


Triple Trouble

by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (Paradoxe1914)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic Fluff, Each ficlet has its own rating, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxe1914/pseuds/weneedtotalkaboutsherlock
Summary: There is hair in his mouth and a knee poking the small of his back. They do not belong to the same man.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade/John Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	Triple Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> I have a soft spot for John/Sherlock/Greg, so here it is but... unilock edition. That thought came to me last week and since then, my headcanons grew, so here I am! 
> 
> This will be a collection of ficlets, most of them short, and not necessarily in chronological order. This will mainly be fluff and domestic stuff, maybe with a bit of smut along the way. There is no chapter count or posting schedule, I post along the way as I get the ideas and the time to write them. If you have prompts for this couple, leave them in the comments and I'll see what I can do if they inspire me! :) 
> 
> Each ficlet will have its own rating, so you can choose accordingly!
> 
> This first ficlet is rated M. Enjoy! :)

Like on most nights, Sherlock Holmes is confronted with a problem so delicate his methods only can solve.

In front of him, his bed. In his bed, his boyfriend, John Watson, snuggling with another man.

The other man is named Greg Lestrade, information for which Sherlock is privy to because it happens that Greg is _also_ his boyfriend.

Both of them are peacefully asleep, John wrapped around Greg, and _that_ is the problem, because Sherlock's spot is in the middle, but he can't be in the middle if his boyfriends are playing lovey-dovey octopuses.

He sniffs.

It's not like it's the first time this has happened — Sherlock usually gets in bed first or last, either because he has not slept for two days or is trying to go through three — but the culprits, tonight, looks quite… intertwined.

He huffs. Well, he has to claim his spot one way or another, right?

He gets on his knees and lifts the duvet, revealing two pairs of feet, toes flexing from the sudden wave of fresh air. Greg grunts and shifts a bit, but does not wake. Good. 

Carefully, Sherlock sticks his head under the cover, but before he can make a run for it, he falls back, arse on the floor, hand over his nose that has been attacked by John's foot. 

" _Grrgbrr_ ," John grunts, as if that is supposed to explain everything. 

"Okay, that's enough," Sherlock replies.

He climbs on the bed, his balance precarious as he comes to stand between their heads, before lowering himself in a squat. He takes John's arm and pulls it away from Greg. 

"Come on. Let go, now," he grumbles, as John resists and snuggles closer. 

With a sigh, Sherlock shoves the arm away again, before inserting his head in the freed space. 

Progress, but not exactly in the direction he wanted. 

John's arm tries to find purchase again and slaps against Sherlock's back, who groans and digs his way forward, until his head is coined, not too elegantly, between his boyfriend's groins. Really, he can't make those stories up anymore. 

He takes a knee in the face before he finally arrives at the end of the bed, proceeds to make a quick one-hundred and eighty degrees, and climbs his way back up before the mighty weeds take again. It takes a bit of strategy to maneuver John's arms away again, but the man finally rolls on his back with a grunt, and Sherlock emerges from under the duvet with a gasp. 

Fresh air. He thought he might have lost that forever.

He wiggles to get more comfortable and sticks his feet between Greg's calves, who jerks from the cold sensation. For good measure, Sherlock passes a finger over Greg's cheek, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. 

There. It won't be from a lack of Sherlock trying if Greg passes out from a lack of oxygen during the night. 

He settles on his side, facing Greg, blessing his personal furnace for warming his feet, just as the other furnace placates himself against Sherlock's back, arms going around him.

He smiles. His rightful place, he thinks, just before he falls asleep. 

*

There is hair in his mouth and a knee poking the small of his back. They do not belong to the same man.

*

At some point in the night, a hand slaps Sherlock in the face. 

"Ouch," Greg mumbles, and turns away. 

*

Warm lips against his forehead. 

Sheets shuffling. 

"Greg?" 

" _Hmmmm._ "

"Greeeg." 

" _Hmmmmwhut_?" 

"It's six." 

"Already?" 

"Yep." 

The sound of kissing, somewhere above his head. 

A playful, teasing, "Mornin'". 

_Oh God, go get a room and let me sleep_ , he wants to say, but it probably sounds more like " _Nnnghh_ ".

Chuckles. Really? _Really?_

He tugs on the duvet. Blessed silence. Blessed darkness. 

The mattress creaks. Dips, before it bounces back up. Once, then twice. 

The door opens, and closes. 

Footsteps down the hallway. 

_Thank God_. 

*

Sometime later, the shower running. 

Footsteps in the bathroom. 

Giggles. _Ugh_.

Giggles, that slowly transform into moans. 

_At this hour of the morning? Honestly?_

He scrambles for the pillow and shoves it over his head. 

*

"Sherlock."

Someone is trying to pry away the pillow from his head.

He groans, and pulls it back over his face. 

"Sheeeeeerlock." A pause. "Baby, c'mon."

A moment later, the pillow is gone, the harsh morning light disorienting, a halo of gold around John's blond head. A wet, naked John, with soft, pink lips, is always a welcomed sight first thing in the morning.

" _Wakey-wakey_ ," John sing-songs, teasing as always. 

The moment John bends down to kiss him on the lips, Sherlock lifts the duvet and slips under it.

John catches his hands and unrolls the duvet from his face. "Sherlock, we need to go to class."

"Let me sleep." 

"Nope. Class, remember?" 

Sherlock groans. He would have given an excuse about how much he doesn't care about this one class, or how the teacher is a complete moron who doesn't even understand the bases of organic chemistry, but that would require speaking, which would require… concentration. 

" _Joooohn_ ," is much simpler to say.

John's fingers are warm and soft where they land on Sherlock's face, as John bends down to kiss him on the forehead. 

"You can sleep in tomorrow." John knows better than to argue about the hours Sherlock goes to sleep, or the experiments he leads well into the early hours of the morning. This is not the first time it happens. "Come on. Or else… we bring in the torture methods." 

John's mouth stretches into a half-smile at its corner, and it's so bright and so fascinating that Sherlock forgets everything about words.

It lasts a good ten seconds, John smiling back at him before Sherlock frowns. "Where's Greg?" 

Two hands land on his thighs, and a warm breath that caresses him right _there_. He glances down and notices the mound under the duvet between his legs. 

He throws his head back on the pillow. "There's Greg," he slurs.

Sherlock hates waking up unless it's the fun way. 

And today—

_oooooh_ —

it is. 


End file.
